


Introspection

by oncetherelivedaboy



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: basically just oscar wallowing in self pity for 900 words, set during the prague arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:08:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29934585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncetherelivedaboy/pseuds/oncetherelivedaboy
Summary: It stings, the things that they say to him. They are all fair things to say, but they still hurt. Not everyone is equipped to be on the front lines, and Wilde certainly isn’t. Illusion magic and his skills don’t make him very well suited for the events that Grizzop, Sasha, and Hamid were suited for.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 18





	Introspection

It stings, the things that they say to him. They are all fair things to say, but they still hurt. Not everyone is equipped to be on the front lines, and Wilde certainly isn’t. Illusion magic and his skills don’t make him very well suited for the events that Grizzop, Sasha, and Hamid were suited for.

He had been trying for the better part of the day to explain to the Ares lot that they were with the Meritocrats, that they weren’t minions of Kafka’s, that Sasha was not plotting the downfall of the living. He had tried to explain the situation over and over again, but they kept stonewalling him. He was exhausted, he hadn’t been sleeping well since Paris. Night terrors mostly, only able to catch a few hours at a time before he woke up sweaty and scared, heart beating so violently in his chest that he had to get up an pace for a bit calm himself enough to lay back down, but it was the same endless cycle, night after night.

He’d gotten them out, none of them harmed physically, the new one, Grizzop, seeming very pleased with himself about the reaction he’d elicited from the guards. Sasha was probably the most in danger with the Ares church running around. Bertie was gone, and in the aftermath Hamid’s sister as well. He understood that they were dealing with a lot, but the cheap shots still hurt. He hadn’t been trying to be condescending, he was tired, burnt out, physically, mentally and socially. He just wanted a quick concise debrief, to take his notes and go back to his office. He wouldn’t get to sleep tonight, would need to file this and send updates and figure out where the next steps would need to be taken, and how to get them there.

Between the Simulacram, the thing under Paris, and now Kafka, the world had gotten a lot smaller and more dangerous. One of the Meritocrats had already fallen, and Wilde felt like the world was on the precipice of something, a new industrial or magical revolution. Change wasn’t necessarily bad, but with the way things were already going he had trouble finding a silver lining.

He missed Zolf, he had been a bit of an ass, but he got to the meat of the thing, didn’t screw around or beat around the bush. He had been critical of Wilde, but his statements were true and after the piece on Bertie he had felt it only fair. If there was a problem Zolf made it known but still did the job. Hamid was good, but he was young, he didn’t have the experience, life-wise or as a leader. Sasha should have been the one left in charge, she was wiser, knew how to handle herself and others, but she didn’t have the personality or charisma to be an easy leader. But, he could see her, a few years down the line in charge of a group of adventurers, or more likely thieves. She was good at planning and quick thinking, but she was too quick to stab first, and she couldn’t lie.

He was grateful for them, for their work, for saving him in Paris when they could have left him for dead or turned him over to Dorian in the locksmith’s, or leaving them when his spells failed and kept failing. He could forgive them for the airship, even though it had still hurt when it seemed he’d been left for dead. But he was Oscar Wilde, and he’d managed to hole up in relative safety as Paris burned. He tried not to think of the burns on his shoulders. He could still taste the blood in his mouth from the gag some nights, feel the biting metal at the base of his skull where the barbed wires had embedded themselves.

He’s just so tired. He wants just one night of rest, just one proper nap that doesn’t end with waking up in a cold sweat and a scream itching at the back of his throat. He wants his agents to like him, to not act like he’s their enemy. He supposes he doesn’t try hard enough, he thinks back to their first meeting in Hamid’s apartment. There had been better ways to go about it, but he wanted them off guard. He wants good things for them, but the world’s gone wrong, and he’s already lost half of his agents to infighting. At this rate, it’s just Sasha and Hamid left. He reckons Sasha will be the next one he’ll lose. She’s not foolhardy, but her scars tell a story of self-destruction and a lack of self-preservation. Hamid is too magical for his own good, one day that itchy fiery trigger finger is going to cast something that backfires. He wants them to like him, but maybe it’s better if they don’t. It’s easier to grieve the people you don’t get too close to, to those who seem to despise you, it hurts less. He’s had agents before, not many, but this is hardly his first gig as a handler. The paperwork is piling up, and it’s a Sisyphean task, there will always be more paperwork, more work to do. So he shuts him off in the disused classroom turned office and gets back to work. Someone dropped the ball, and it’s just job to pass it on or carry it himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr at oncetherelivedaboy.tumblr.com


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